


Bombfish

by InOmniaParatus



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I am choosing not to use warnings for this because warning will ruin it, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InOmniaParatus/pseuds/InOmniaParatus
Summary: Based on A Perfect Day for Bananafish by Salinger.While Merlin and Arthur fret, Eggsy goes fishing with his friend Harry.





	Bombfish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicecuppatea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicecuppatea/gifts), [D34THR4C3R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D34THR4C3R/gifts).



> This is based heavily on A Perfect Day for Bananafish by JD Salinger (of Catcher in the Rye fame.)
> 
> Nothing explicit happens between Harry and Eggsy, but I marked it as slash because I felt like people would read into it, given some of my other work. Or read into it in general, because there were certainly some undertones in Bananafish, and I had nothing to do with that :P
> 
> Enjoy

There were two-hundred and forty-seven newspaper pages tacked to the crimson walls. They were rubbish, all of them. Free Diedre. The Judge and the Rent Boy. Kumquat May. Each headline stood out sharply even against the bold paint on the walls, highlighting the vapid absurdity of it all.

  
The man clearly didn’t belong behind the desk, though he didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he seem to notice the incessant beepbeep beep coming from his temples. His dark eyes scanned the screen in front of him for a moment, brow furrowed, before he began typing again. He didn’t glance at his fingers as they flew across the keyboard.

The beeping stopped for a minute, two, and began again with a different rhythm. Beep beep beeeep.

He finished the line of code and tapped at his specs.

“I have Arthur for you, sir.”

He swallows a groan and shuts his laptop.

“Very well.  Thank you.”

The line didn’t click as it switched over—it was too advanced for that—but there was a brief sigh of static and then a fraught, posh voice.

“Merlin? I’ve been ringing you for hours.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “My apologies, Arthur. What can I do for you?” 

“You haven’t checked in to debrief on Galahad’s situation.”

“I have nothing to report. I’ve only been here for 48 hours and he’s been perfectly normal in that time.”

“And you? Are you alright, Merlin?”

He leant back in his chair. “I’m fine. There’s still that damn dog staring at me every time I take a leak, and all those creepy butterfl—“

“Why haven’t you checked in? Protocol for rogue agents—“

“He’s not a rogue agent, Arthur. I would’ve called if there was anything to report.” 

“I know the two of you have been…close, in the past. But you can confide in me, if he’s behaving oddly.”

“Respectfully, Arthur, knock it off. If there was anything to report, I would have reported it.” 

“What has he been doing?”

“Moping about, mostly. We popped back in to use the ranges on Tuesday.”

“The shooting ranges? Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“Don’t get excited, Arthur. He was perfectly in control. His scores were impeccable, as usual.” 

“You have lost your mind, giving him a gun. After what happened—“

“I said he was perfectly in control. Have they managed to repair the Porsche?”

“Not yet. Maintenance insists they can’t get the blood out of the upholstery. It’s brushed hide, you know, and will cost a bloody fortune to replace.”

“He already said he would pay for the damages.”

“That’s beside the point, Merlin. Listen, I spoke to Dr Makan. I told him everything. The Porche. That business with the Chechens. The horrible things he said to Lady McAllister at her husband’s funeral. Everything.”

“And?”

“Well, in the first place, he said it was completely negligent for Medical to have released him. He said—I swear to this, Merlin, he said that there was a very good chance Galahad may go completely ‘round the bend.  That he’s practically a safety hazard.”

“He already has a psychologist, sir.”

“Who? What’s his name?”

 “I don’t know. Rieser or something. He’s meant to be very good.”

 “I’ve never heard of him.”

Merlin snorted. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with every head shrinker in London, sir.”

 “I’ve no need for your snark, Merlin. The board of directors are _very_ concerned, I can tell you. We were just about to recall Galahad, as a matter of fact, if you didn’t answer, and place him in a secure facility until--”

“Everything is fine, Arthur, for goodness sake.”

 “And I’ve half a mind to do it, anyway. I shudder to think what could happen if someone of Galahad’s skill set became unhinged. _More_ unhinged.”

 “Galahad is stable, unarmed and sat on a park bench gawking at the Thames. Hardly the melodrama you’re making it out to be.”

 “The Thames? Good Lord, why?”

“It’s his business. I haven’t asked. I’m more concerned with Percival landing in Bangladesh in fifteen minutes. I was wondering, sir, if there might be a connection between that op and the one in Tahiti last summer. I’ll need to check into that before he lands.” 

He hung up.

☂️

 “Hold still, you little bugger,” Mrs Unwin said, trying to wrangle her son. “Every day, tryin’ to leave the flat lookin’ like a guttersnipe.”

She licked her thumb and rubbed it on his chin, then gives a similar spit treatment to his unruly mop of hair. “Don’t even know where he gets off to,” she said over his head. “But at least he’s not getting into any trouble. Did you hear about the Marshall boy? No more than 9 and already hauled in for running drugs.”

“Hairy,” Eggsy Unwin piped up. He was squirming away from his mother.

“Yes, you are a hairy little creature,” said the other woman. “I’ll bring my shears over tomorrow, Michelle, and give him a trim.”

“Ta, Yvonne. He needs it.” She turned to Eggsy. “Run and play, now. Stay out of trouble. Mummy’s off to the pub with Mrs Kelling.”

Set loose, Eggsy wasted no time. He jogged from street to street, sneaking on a bus to take him towards the river. Stopping only to throw a stone at a wasps’ nest, he was soon much, much too far away from home for a boy of six.

He ambled along the riverbank for about a quarter mile, then broke into a run. He stopped at a bench, where a man was staring off into the distance. He was wearing a suit, despite the heat, and had a bent fishing pole lying at his feet.

“Are you gonna catch a fish, Harry?” he asked.

The man jumped, startled, and his hand jerked under jacket, reaching for something that wasn’t there.

“Eggsy. Good Heavens. Hello.”

“Are you gonna catch a fish?”

“I was waiting for you, of course,” he answered smoothly. “And how do you do today?”

“What?” he said, scooping up pebbles and tossing them into the air.

“What’s new and exciting?”

“My daddy’s coming home next week, on the train.”

Harry grimaced. “Not over our heads, darling,” he admonished, placing his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “Next week, you say? That must be exciting.”

Eggsy shrugged. “Where’s your mate?”

“Hmm?”

“Him with no hair?”

Harry brushed a stone off his lap. “It’s hard to say. Off building a robot, I’m sure. Hacking MI-6. Blowing up Rio de Janiero.”  He slumped, the sharp lines of his suit making his slouch look all the more dramatic. “Ask me something else, Eggsy. That’s a handsome shirt you’ve got on. If there’s one thing I like, it’s a red shirt.”

Eggsy looked at him, then down at his own chest. “This is _orange_ , Harry. It’s _orange._ ”

“Is it? Come a bit closer.” Eggsy hopped up onto the bench beside him. “You’re quite right. Silly me.”

“Are you gonna catch a fish?” he asked again.

“I’m thinking about it, you’ll be pleased to hear. Waiting for the water to calm a bit.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, and then put his arm casually around his small shoulders. “You’re looking handsome as ever, Eggsy. How are you? Tell me about yourself? I’m a Virgo,” he said. “What are you?”

“Tyler Tilly said you kicked the football with him,” Eggsy said.

“Tyler Tilly said that?”

Eggsy nodded vigorously.

Harry drew his arm back, settling his hands on his lap. “Well, you know how these things happen, Eggsy. I was walking by and the ball went out of bounds. I could hardly just toss it into the street, could I?”

 “Yes!”

 “No, no, no,” Harry said, tsking. “That wouldn’t do at all. I’ll tell you what I did do, though.”

 “What?”

 “I pretended he was you, of course.”

 Eggsy, mollified, said “Let’s catch a fish.”

 “Alright.”

 “Next time, kick it at his face.”

“Who?”

 “Tyler Tilly.”

 "I’ll tell you what, Eggsy,” he said. “Why don’t we try to catch a bombfish?”

 “A what?”

 “A bombfish,” he said, and picked up his fishing pole. He checked the line, tightened it, secured a hook and bait. His long fingers were quick and precise.

 “Did you read Rainbow Fish?” Eggsy asked.

 “It’s funny you should ask,” Harry said. “I finished it just this morning. What did you think about it?” He reached for Eggsy’s hand and led him down to a safer foothold for fishing.

 “Did the Rainbow Fish have many rainbow scales left?”

 “Absolutely he did.”

 “I only saw one.”

 “Well, he had a whole chest of them, in his fishy home. Not to worry.”

 “Do you like syrup?”

 “Of course.”

 Eggsy nodded. “And silly putty?”

 “Syrup and silly putty. Never leave home without them, I always say.”

 “Do you like Tyler Tilly?” Eggsy asked.

 Harry sighed. “Yes, I do,” he says, and tightened his fingers around Eggsy’s smaller ones. “What I _particularly_ like about him is that he stands up for himself when bigger boys try to steal his football. You probably won’t believe this, darling, but _some_ boys would cry and run away. Tyler doesn’t. He’s never weak or cowardly. That’s why I like him so much.”

 Eggsy was silent.  

 “I like to squish silly putty,” he said finally.

 “Don’t we all,” said the man, his toes wiggling over the edge of the embankment. “Goodness. It’s a long way down.”

 The boy edged closer, wrapping his arms around a pinstriped trouser leg. “Don’t let me fall down.”

 “Mr Unwin. Please. I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Don’t close your eyes. You must be on the lookout for bombfish.”

 “I don’t see any.”

 “Quite right. You have to look very, very carefully. They’re quite sneaky.” He dropped the hook down towards the water. It snagged in a cluster of rocks. “And quite, quite sad. Do you know about bombfish, Eggsy?”

 The boy shook his head, studying the water.

 “After the Blitz, the Thames was chockerbox full of unexploded bombs. And of course, that’s extremely dangerous for the ships and bridges. So the King let hundreds and hundreds of bombfish into the river. They find the bombs, the ones left behind, and they gobble them up. And they’re bloody great bombs, the sort that were dropped from aeroplanes, so once the bombfish manage to swallow the bomb, they float up to the surface for just a moment, then sink like a submarine all the way to the bottom of the river.”

 “What happens then?”

 “What happens after they sink to the bottom, full of explosive?”

 “Yes”

 “Well, I hate to tell you, dearest, but they die. The bomb detonates and they detonate with it. It’s just how the king wanted it, of course. The bombfish do an important, dangerous job and once their services are no longer needed, they’re discarded like rubbish.”

 Eggsy gasped at the man’s side and pointed out to the water. “I saw one!”

 “Did you?” Harry exclaimed. “Did it have a bomb in it’s mouth?”

 “ _Two!_ It had two bombs!”

 Harry bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Eggsy’s head, then pulled away. “We’d best be off, then. The explosion of _two_ bombs may be catastrophic.”

 He led Eggsy to firmer ground and, without looking back, the boy shouted “Bye!’ and ran off towards home.

 ☂️

 

Harry let himself into his house quietly, years as a spy keeping his footfalls quiet without conscious thought.

He ducked into the toilet to take a leak, bristling under the doleful gaze of his dearly departed dog.

 “What the fuck are you looking at?” he snapped at it.

 Merlin was asleep on his sofa. The hum of the computer and his friend’s soft snores filled the small room.

 Harry went over to one of the side tables, opened a drawer and from under a pile of outdated magazines and scrap paper he took out a Sig-Sauer P232. He released the magazine, looked at it, then reinserted it. He cocked the piece. Then he went over and sat down on the edge of the sofa, looked at his closest friend, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his own right temple.


End file.
